


How Low

by avienexjel



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint is also a dick at first, EVERYONE IS YOUNGER IN THIS FIC (BESIDES STEVE), Everyone's A+ Parenting, F/M, Heavy Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Steve is a dick in some parts, also like fury is still alive and bits of SHIELD still exist, don't ask me how lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:18:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avienexjel/pseuds/avienexjel
Summary: Six months after the events of the Civil War, Tony Stark has managed to get Ross in jail while also fixing the Accords and getting the exiled Avengers out of prison sentences.  But while he's managed to make life a little better for everyone else, it's well known to the people who understand him that he often forgets to take care of himself.  Pepper's in California, getting some space while still helping as Stark Industries CEO, Rhodey is still taking physical therapy, and everyone who doesn't completely blame him is too busy to include him in their packed schedules.  Now Fury's demanded Tony to house the Avengers, and Tony...well, Tony doesn't know what to think.  After all, he knows they hate him, and isn't even sure if he'll ever come to terms with Barnes no matter how innocent the actual man may have been.





	1. Chapter 1

**one**

 

"Rogers."  Tony shook hands with the blonde supersoldier stiffly.  A press smile was plastered onto his face, but even Tony knew how empty his expression must look.  Behind Captain America were the wary presences of none other than Black Widow, Hawkeye, and the former Winter Soldier--Bucky Barnes.  Even six months later, every time Tony saw Barnes, bile rose up in his throat.   _He killed my mother.  Stop being so weak, Anthony.   My mom, my mom, my mom--  Stark men are made of iron._ The wind was cool on his face as it whistled around the doorstep of Stark Tower.  (Tony had fixed that goddamn sign; had changed it back from A to Stark again.  The A brought back too many memories.)

"I see the rest of your merry band is here too," Tony said, widening his grin.  His cheek muscles didn't even tremble from the strain, because after all, Tony had grown up in the spotlight.  Putting on a facade was something he was all too familiar with.  From behind Steve's broad shoulders, he could see Natasha eyeing him.  Like...she hated him or something.  Well, she probably did anyway, which Tony figured wasn't good.  The woman was way too deadly for even an assassin.

"Fury ordered us here," Barton said suddenly, appearing next to the supersoldier.  "We're not here to socialize, _Stark._ We just need a place to stay.  Bet you're pretty sad that you have to actually share space with somebody, huh?"  Tony fought the urge to shout at the archer.  He wanted to say that he was the one who persuaded the government to let the superheroes back into the States without hostility or imprisonment.  He was the one who had landed Ross in jail after fixing the Accords.   _He_ had been the one to get all of his teammates--correction, former teammates; as well as their new recruits--out of Wakanda without the public trying to murder them or cause chaos.

Tony shrugged, his stance casual and deliberate.  "Well, you can't exactly stay with Laura now, can you?"  The female Barton had contacted Tony about two months ago, tearful but steely.  She had spoken to him about her decision to divorce her husband, and the engineer had spent many phone calls and afternoons comforting, chatting, and playing with her little ones over tea.

At that, Barton's face twisted into an ugly fury.  "What the  _fuck_ did you just say to me?" he snarled.

Tony cocked his head.  "I know your hearing aids are turned up," he said, purposely bringing up the fact that he had figured out Clint's hearing difficulties long ago.  If you studied the guy hard enough, it was pretty easy to spot the dark buds in his ears.

Steve's hand planted firmly against the archer's chest was Tony's only saving grace.  "Stand down, Clint," the man ordered, before throwing Tony a disgusted look.  "Watch yourself, Stark."

"Hey, don't treat your host like that," Tony called after him smarmily as Steve walked into the building.  "I could slip poison into your food, you know."  

Barnes was the only one who didn't look at him with hatred as each of his former teammates plus Sam and Wanda passed him by.

xxx

Tony found them an hour later, everyone standing in the kitchen except for Steve.  The blonde was standing in front of him, arm still half-stretched towards the "down" button.  "Uh," Steve said intelligently.  "Uh.  Stark."  He suddenly looked completely unsure of himself and blushed a bright red.  "Couldn't...I was gonna...do we have rooms, or..."

Tony flung his arms wide and smirked.  "How about a house tour?  Brucie would naturally be first because his floor is the lowest, but he's not here right now so I guess I'll just skip to Wanda's."

Steve seemed to have gone into shock.  "Fl-Floor?" he stammered.

"Umm, yeah," Tony said.  He gestured at himself.  "Billionaire, remember?"

This seemed to dampen the supersoldier's mood again at the reminder of Tony's obvious narcissism.  "Should've known you were only doing this to show off," the man muttered.  

Tony flinched minutely--because he had heard the same words so many times even when he tried to do good--but the Captain didn't seem to notice.  Instead, he turned to the elevator.  "We'd like to see our r--floors please."   _Please.  Polite as always,_ Tony scoffed to himself before his mind registered on the "we".  To his surprise, the rest of Steve's group were now crowded around him, all looking suspicious.

"Okay!" Tony said brightly, clapping his hands together.  "Scarlet Witch, you first!"

A minute later found all of the Avengers standing on Wanda's floor.  Sam's eyes were blown wide and his jaw was hanging.  Natasha's eyebrows were raised minimally and Tony swallowed.  Was that a good or bad thing?  Who knew?

"So."  He turned to Wanda.  "You, do you like it?"

The woman scowled, regarding her surroundings with an icy air.  "It's...very expensive looking."  There were the slightest traces of a Russian accent in her voice, and the engineer secretly admired how quickly Wanda managed to adapt to all of the consonants and vowels in the English language.

"Of course it is; this place is called Stark Tower for a reason."  This only made the atmosphere tenser, and Tony beckoned them to the elevator to try to release some of it.

The next floor was Natasha's.  He had wanted her floor to be right next to Clint's, but considering what he could find out about each of the Avengers' preferences, that plan hadn't worked.  Hopefully, Natasha wouldn't mind travelling a couple stories up to visit.  Inside was homey except still fit Natasha's sleek style.  Tony had tried to fashion it while making it look as dissimilar as possible from the Red Room or the bare white walls of SHIELD.  He figured he could give her that much, even if she had betrayed him during the Civil War.  He would never admit it, but he cared for her a little bit.  They had been teammates for two years, after all.  No matter what had happend after that.

It had been harder for Tony to renovate her floor than anyone else's.  With Wanda's, he hadn't known her very well, but at least he could figure out that she'd like a more Russian-y, teenagery place.  But Black Widow?  That was altogether a different case.  The woman revealed nothing.  

"So, like, I had no idea what you liked," Tony drawled in order to make it seem like he had spent less time than in reality on deciding what each Avenger's room should look like.  It was definitely a terrible idea to tell them that he had already been making plans from the time he fell back through the wormhole.  "So if you hate it, just tell me and I'll call up a few workers to knock everything down and remodel."

Natasha shook her head.  "It's fine," she said, her voice betraying no emotion whatsoever.  

Tony winked lasciviously at her.  "Glad you like it.  Okay, everyone, now we've got Sam!"

Without bothering to watch if they would follow him, he strode back into the elevator and pressed the 'up' button, trying to steady his nerves.  He only had to show them their rooms and then he would be free to retreat into his workshop or his hidey-hole, as Rhodey often called it.

 _Rhodey._ Thinking about his best friend reminded Tony about the fact that the colonel would never be able to walk again.  He was currently working on a fluid pair of metal legs that could be attached to Rhodey's hips, but metal wasn't the same as skin and bone and blood.  Also it made him think of Barnes' robotic fingers tightening around his mother's throat.

Tony shook his head as if to clear the thoughts before noticing that Natasha was studying him again.  It was like an x-ray of his head or something.  Tony shifted awkwardly as the elevator came to a smooth stop and he stepped out, readying himself to play the loud and confident host everyone expected him to be.

The Avengers were on Clint's room, the highest in the tower, when Sam stepped forward.  Tony was busy showing the group around, spreading his arms at the subtle olive green tones (he knew that while Clint liked green, he also hated emerald because of Loki) when the dark-skinned man said, "Why?"

The billionaire stopped short and cocked any eyebrow.  "Why what, my dearest falcon?"

"Why?" Sam asked again.  There was a conflict of emotions in his tone, a bit of hostility and suspicion but also an undertone of...something else.  Something softer.  "Why would you do this for us?  You barely even know me, Stark."

Tony shrugged.  "Why not?"  He had learned long ago that if you couldn't change a person's view about you, you might as well live up to it.  They all hated him, and would never stop hating him, so why shouldn't he get to play along?  "Like I told Rogers already--I've got the money, I've got the power, I've got the influence to make people do it for me.  It's not like I actually had to work personally on your floors or the training room or the gym or anything."

Sam opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again.  "Gym?   _Training room?"_ he said in disbelief, shaking his head.   _Great, now he's disappointed,_ Tony thought, and pressed back the hurt that suddenly flooded him.

"I meant, why would you take the time to look up our preferences and stuff?" Sam said.  "My floor...it's literally perfectly how I've always wanted my place to look."

"I had Pepper do it all for me," Tony lied, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  He chose not to add that not only was Pepper unaware of his renovations, but that she had dumped him as well.  "So, whatever you're thinking, it's probably wrong."

He could feel Natasha's eyes on him like laser beams, probing.  He was about to turn around, go allow them to explore while he disappeared into workshop, when Bucky moved closer to him with a hand raised.  Immediately, Tony backtracked sharply, his heart pounding in his ears.  He fought the memories clouding his vision and making his ears buzz.

Bucky had stopped and was looking at him oddly.  Tony realized that he had pressed himself against the wall and had his hands in a protective stance.  Now the smarter Avengers like Natasha would figure out that he was _still_ having nightmares of the Civil War, not to mention the ones of Obie and Afghanistan and Ultron and Yinsen and the wormhole and his mom dying and Howard ignoring him or slapping him or drinking and, and--  "What, Barnes?" he snapped, the defensiveness rising.

"I said, thank you, Stark," the former Winter Soldier repeated.  His voice was low, and surprisingly mellow, a little rough like thick salted chocolate.

"Huh?" Tony said intelligently, then muttered, "Oh.   _Oh._ Okay, well, it's not like it took up much of my time anyway."

"Yeah, because you made  _Pepper_ do all of your dirty work," Clint spat.

"I--" Tony was about to say,  _no, I did,_ before remembering what he'd told them.  Well, it was his fault for saying that.  He still wouldn't admit he'd cared so much about the renovations even if to prevent Clint from attacking him.  Like Howard had told him many times as a kid:  _"Don't let them know you care.  Caring is a weakness, man's worst downfall.  Caring leaves too many loopholes, and you, Anthony, cannot have loopholes.  You will not disappoint me again.  Understand?"_

"It disgusts me, Stark," the archer continued, "how you can be so disgustingly _calm_ about using your girlfriend like that.  You are a disgusting human being.  How can you treat people like that?  No wonder nobody likes you.  Potts must be really tolerant to stay around you this long.  God knows no one else would.  I'm just surprised Potts hasn't ditched your sorry ass."

Tony choked back the sob thickening in his throat.  It had only been a month since Pepper's departure, and didn't that just prove the truth of Clint's statement.  He had thought that Pepper was the one, had checked out several of the top-notch wedding ring stores, had already had his eye on a several-million-dollars-worth ruby and gold band that reminded him both of her hair and his Iron Man half...only for her to tearfully break up with him in their penthouse one day, saying that she just couldn't take not knowing whether or not her boyfriend would be coming home alive anymore.  That she wanted, no,  _needed_ a man that would be able to take care of their children every single day, no matter how much she loved him.

Tony preferred to think that if he really had been loved that much, Pepper would have fought against her logic and stayed with him anyway.

Wounded, Tony snatched up the last thing he could think to say.  "Like Laura ditched yours?"

Clint threw himself at Tony and slammed the billionaire against the wall.   _Bam!_ His skull cracked against the wall as Clint pulled his fist back, breathing hard.  The archer's knuckles slammed into his cheekbone again, sending his world spinning.  Black spots danced in front of his vision for a few seconds before fading.

"Clint!  That's enough!" he heard Steve's voice echo somewhere, sounding far, far away.  The weight against him was suddenly lifted, and Tony could breathe again.  He tried to fight the flashbacks as he heard footsteps moving away.

_"Stop, stop!" Tony cried out as the familiar rough hands moved over his body, prying.  "Ty, please..."_

_He felt the fingers massage his crotch before tightening, and he felt the tears trickling over his cheeks.  "No, stop..."_

_"Don't worry, Tony, I'll make your first time good for you."  Tiberius Stone leered over his body, lust etched in every plane of his face.  "Shh, don't worry..."_

Tony had managed to knock Ty out with the lamp as soon as the teen had accidentally loosened his grip on Tony's wrists, but even now, the flashback burned with pain, seared into his mind as if it were happening at that very moment.  Tony whimpered, vaguely aware of his cheek pressed against the floor, before he was thrown into the next flashback.

_Hands were holding him down, fingers knotting into his hair, forcing his head underwater.  Tony struggled until a kick to his ribs made him swallow a bunch of water.  He felt himself losing consciousness like when Clint slammed his head back into the wall, and his body spasmed.  Finally, the hands yanked his chin back through the surface, and he sucked in air._

_"DO IT!  MAKE THE MISSILE, AND THIS PAIN WILL END," a heavily accented voice growled in his ear.  "MAKE THE MISSILE."_

_Tony knew he should have just done it, obliged, but he knew that he wasn't worth anything.  It didn't matter if he died.  This had been before his idea of Iron Man...but what no one knew was that he had been planning to die all along.  His survival?  Unexpected.  Being trapped in an obscure cave by terrorists, a car battery in his chest, while being their main concern didn't leave very good odds of life.  To be honest, Tony had never given much concern to dying.  If he died, at least his company would be left in Obie's responsible hands.  Well, how wrong he had been about his only real father figure besides Jarvis._

_He never hesitated as he replied, "No."  And then the water swallowed up his world again, and he was screaming bubbles that no one could hear._

When Tony came back to himself, he was curled up on the floor, tear tracks on his face.  Nobody was around, and he realized that the footsteps he'd heard earlier were probably Clint and the rest of the group leaving.  If he was honest with himself, he didn't know how he felt.  Of course, he was incredibly relieved that none of them had been there to witness his panic attack--it would just be more evidence of his weakness--but there was also a strange kind of sadness digging at his ribcage.  Almost as if he still cared about wanting someone to love him.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony talks with Bucky and gets drunk. Bucky feels closed in. Also Steve plans a movie night just between Bucky and himself...but only because he's desperate, not romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions on where this story should go???????????????????? I feel like this chapter is a duddd

**two**

 

There was a clearing of the throat behind him and Tony flinched violently, nearly dropping the empty mug dangling from his fingers as he waited for the coffee machine to finish brewing.  He turned only to see Barnes watching him from the shadows, an indecipherable expression on his face.

“James,” Tony said, before he could shut himself up.  But the Winter Soldier only nodded at him silently before moving closer, just a little.

“Sit if you want.  I was just about to leave.”  Tony waved a flippant hand at the row of chairs at the counter while he used his other to pick up his now-refilled coffee.  “Don’t have to be shy just because I’m here.  It’s all yours.”

“Stay.”  Barnes’s voice was gruff as he inched the tiniest bit more into the light.

Tony hesitated, his eyebrows popping up in surprise.  “I...um, sure.  If you...want me too.”

The shaggy black mane of hair in front of him nodded.

“You should get a haircut,” Tony said before he could think about getting a brain-to-mouth filter.  “Um.”

Barnes looked up at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Suddenly, the Winter Soldier sneered, an ugly smirk twisting his features.  “Oh, but you never mean to, do you, _Stark,”_ he spat, using the name Tony hated oh so much.   _I am not my father._

“What--”

“You’re just a _disgusting, pathetic,_ piece of _filth,”_ Barnes continued, and suddenly the metal arm was at Tony’s throat, cold fingers curling around his collar and lifting up.  “No wonder everyone still hates you, even after all you’ve done for them, bailing them out of their prison sentences and setting them free.  Because in the end, we all know you’re still _nothing_ and you’ll die being nothing.”  Tony froze, and Barnes took this moment to crush his hand around the engineer’s throat, choking him, choking him, just like _MommommommommomMOM_

 +++

Tony bolted upright with a start.  The sheets were sweat-soaked and tangled around him like vices.  Throwing the blankets off him, Tony swung his legs to the side and put his face in his hands in the dark.  At least he hadn’t been screaming.  If Clint had been crawling through the vents, he most likely would’ve heard Tony in the throes of the nightmare.  

He tilted his head upwards to stare at the ceiling.  How could everything have gone so completely and utterly _wrong_ in just the span of a few months?  First Ultron, then the Civil War, then fucking _Ross_ and Tony was once again left to pick up all the pieces.

He was about to go to the kitchen, get himself a cup of something, possibly coffee or possibly coffee and alcohol mixed together--but then he was reminded of Dream-Barnes, violent and vicious and as sharp as a blade, and decided against it.

No, he’d go down to the bar instead.  Get rip roaring drunk.  It’d be okay, because all of the Avengers tended to stay away from alcohol except for him.  After all, they were better people.  Had more self-control.

 +++

“Bucky.”  The former Winter Soldier didn’t even have to look behind him to know who it was.  

“Steve.”  The supersoldier seemed a little cowed by the somewhat icy tone in Bucky’s voice.

“Hey, Buck, I was wondering if you wanted to do something with me?  Just like, just like old times.”  Steve’s voice was openly hopeful, perhaps a bit too openly.

When Bucky didn’t say anything, Steve continued eagerly.  “It’s just that I know it’s a new time.  Heck, of course I know, I’m going through the same thing as you.”  The Winter Soldier tensed, but Steve didn’t seem to notice.  “It’s not like before, you know?  But we can still have fun.  I gotta introduce you to all the new things in the world.  Stark’s showed me some fancy things--”  The blonde paused.  “About Stark.  I’m sorry for his behavior.  I know he makes you really uncomfortable, but he doesn’t mean to.  That’s just his personality--brash and rude.”

Bucky finally turned towards his ex-best friend, shrugging.  “I don’t mind,” he said gruffly.  “Stark seems like a good man.”

“Well--sure.”  Steve seemed nonplussed.  “He just makes things come out in really…”

Bucky turned away again.

“Hey, Buck.”  Steve grabbed the other man’s shoulder, and Bucky had to physically tamp down his assassin instincts to grab Steve’s fingers, break all the bones in his hand, and push him away.  “Want to maybe watch a movie in the living room tomorrow night?  It’ll be fun, just like the old times.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to be like the old times,” Bucky snapped hoarsely, and shoved off his chair.  “I’m real sorry, Steve, but I’m _not_ the old me anymore.  You’re looking for the Bucky that isn’t there.  If he ever was, he died a long time ago.  I’ll come to the movie night, for you.  But I can’t...I can’t be the same man.”  As he left, he pretended like he couldn’t feel Steve’s shocked and hurt gaze burning into his shoulder blades.

 Of course, as fate would have it, a frustrated Bucky Barnes found himself in the company of none other than Tony Stark.  After he’d stormed out of the room and left Steve, he’d just turned down random hallways and passed rooms he’d never seen before, taking the elevator to floors he chose with his eyes closed and finger blindly stabbing the button.  Which, somehow, led him to Stark.

Bucky wasn’t really sure what he thought of the billionaire.  He’d heard several opinions from other people, most of the adjectives of which included the words “unstable”, “disgusting”, “rude”, and “wealthy fucking asshole who deserves to get locked up in a pit” (Clint).  But to him, Tony seemed alright.  Though, on the other hand, Bucky definitely didn’t know the guy as well as the other Avengers seemed to.  After all, they certainly had a _lot_ of opinions on the who and what of Tony Stark.

“Oh, look, _he’s_ here!  The Winter Soldier, the murderer!  He’s here!” Tony babbled as he slipped and landed on his knees, looking at Bucky with bleary eyes.

With a start, Bucky realized the man was drunk--and not only drunk, incredibly, incredibly drunk off his feet.  There were two bottles scattered on the floor, empty, and three shot glasses.  And, of course, the half-drunk one swinging from the billionaire’s hand.

Bucky was just about to leave, feeling like he was interrupting a somehow private moment, when Tony shouted, “Nu-no, stay, stay.”  He flapped his hand, inviting the soldier to come over.

“...”

“C’mon, I wanna g’t t’ know the guy who saw m’ p’rents last,” Tony slurred, grabbing onto the Winter Soldier’s metal arm.  Bucky growled deep in his throat as memories came back to him, too fast and too painful to fully grasp.

Tony immediately changed, stumbling back with fear in his wide brown eyes.  The billionaire fumbled backwards while throwing his arms up in self-defense.  

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bucky gritted out as a headache throbbed through his skull.  Tamping down his memories made him ache like no tomorrow.

“Yes, y’s y’are,” the engineer said, glaring at him.  “You killed m’ mom, who says y’ won’t k’ me?”

“I do.”  Bucky turned away.  He didn’t know how to handle this; none of his programming had ever taught him how and it had been too long since he’d had to deal with his fellow soldiers getting tipsy and having to drag them out.  And he didn’t really think Stark would react well with his parents’ murderer hauling him to his bedroom like that.

“Th’t d’sn’t mean much,” Tony mumbled grumpily, crossing his arms and setting down his bottle childishly.  

Bucky was starting to shake, breathing harder and clenching his eyes shut.  God, this was too much strain for him, too much stress, he couldn’t even look at Tony right now.  Every time he saw Howard Stark’s son, he saw his hand slamming a weathered grey skull into the dashboard and watching the lights go out of twin dark eyes, fingers crushing the larynx of a slender Italian throat.  And Stark was talking too much, slurring too much, it was getting all mixed up in his head and he couldn’t, fuck he couldn’t…

“Hey.  Shh.  S’okay.”  Bucky looked up to see Stark settled a few feet away, hands planted firmly on the floor and a solemn expression on his face.  “”M sorry, for--for whatiss worth.”

“You.  Have nothing to be sorry for,” Bucky gasped out between harsh chuckles, but his voice came sounding sharp and harsh and guttural.  Just like how he always had as the Winter Soldier.  He ducked his head, angry at himself for sounding so disgustingly mean and so disgustingly like the rough edge he had tried to get rid of so many times.

“I h’ve ev’rything t’ be s’rry for,” Stark said quietly, and Bucky had the inkling that the man wasn’t talking about this moment anymore.  He watched the billionaire and the billionaire’s dark eyes watched back.

“Why,” Bucky said darkly, bitterly.  Memories were writhing inside of his head, like poisonous snakes entangled with his blood.

Stark smiled at him, a smile full of pain.  “Bein’ born,” he muttered.  “Merchant a Death.  Ultron.  Civil War.  You.  Afgh’nistan.  T’berius Stone.  Howard Stark.  Pepper.  M’ whole entire life, Barnes, at least you d’dn’t have control over your own b’dy, y’h’ve--h’ve an escuse.  I.  I don’t.”

Bucky stiffened.  “I had control over everything.”

“No.”  Stark’s eyes lifted to meet his again.  They were like milk chocolate, but with flecks of gold and coal.  “You didn’.”

Bucky stood abruptly, shoulders still trembling, and left the room.  Stark stayed on the floor, and when Bucky glanced back, he saw the engineer fumbling for the bottle again, barely able to stand up.  He wasn’t sure if that was because of the alcohol, or because of everything else that was crushing them both.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment how you liked it as well as suggestions!!! ahhh


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony overhears a convo between Steve and Bucky. Then has fun with Rhodeybear.

**three**

 

 

When Tony opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was.  It felt like his eyelids were covered in flaky ten-cent glue, and his mouth tasted _terrible._ Looking around, he blearily noted that he was in one of two living rooms in the Tower.  He liked to think of it as a private room, although all of the people in his house had access to it.  As far as he knew, the Avengers (if they could even be called that anymore, as if they were a collective group) only used the larger, main living room.  His back was propped up against the side of the couch, and he realized there were bottles and shot glasses littering the floor.  Looked like he’d had a wild last night, then.  Not that he could remember anything.  It was a wonder he could even think coherently right now at all.

Tony groaned.  It had been about a month since he had last consumed so much alcohol, and just when he thought he was getting better he had to fuck.  Up.   _Again._

Shaking all self-hatred from his thoughts for the time being, he picked himself up off the floor with a wheeze.  His hangover was taking a heavy toll on all his senses, and like JARVIS had told him when JARVIS was still alive, wine only chased away his problems for the night.  And it would be hard to avoid them all when those problems came in the form of two assassins, a walking flag, a bird whose wings weren’t even that cool and _definitely_ not fashionable, a woman who could shoot red out of her hands like a Fourth of July fireworks display--because she was _twenty three;_ she was NOT a girl; Tony had been treated as an adult from the time he was sixteen--and a pyschopath without the pyscho (or who knew, Barnes could still be a little bit on edge).  All of whom LIVED IN HIS GOD DAMN TOWER.  Tony told himself he was glad that he put that S, T, R, and K back on the front of his home.  They might be the Avengers to the world ever since Steve and his merry band of patriot minions were brought back into the States, but everyone here knew just how broken their little group was now.

Haggardly, Tony picked up all of the glasses scattered at his feet and tossed them in the trash.  He needed a shower, he needed to brush his teeth, he needed--he needed _Pepper_ and _JARVIS_ and for himself to stop fucking other people’s lives up.  Clint had had a point yesterday, when he’d said, _No wonder nobody likes you._ Yeah, no wonder.  People didn’t like people who couldn’t get things right.  Howard had always told him that you were measured by your worth and what you had accomplished, and what _had_ Tony accomplished?  Wreckage and ruin.  No wonder he was alone.

After washing up and changing his clothes, Tony made his way downstairs by elevator.  He knew it was stupid but he stretched his mouth wide in a smile, practicing, reminding himself of how to do it.  When he was fifteen, Howard had had him smile over and over in the mirror for hours, just so that he’d be a perfectly charming image in front of the press.  Of course, a year later Howard’s head was smashed in by Bucky Barnes, so it’s not like a smile saved him anyway.

As he drew near the kitchen, he heard two low, distinctly male voices.  Why was it that every time Tony needed a snack his peace and quiet was interrupted?  Stuffing his hands in his pockets casually, he was all prepared to walk in like the carefree facade he often displayed, when a few fragments of conversation caught his ears.  He froze, stiffening behind the wall, and listened closer.

_“You didn’t see him last night, Steve.  The guy was a mess.”_

The voice was hushed, gruff-sounding, and there was a guttural undertone of irritation or frustration or something.  So.  Barnes and the Cap were there, then.  Every instinct in Tony’s body was screaming at him to go back the way he’d come and head to the workshop instead, but some rebellious thing in his mind told him to stay.

_“Stark?  That’s how he normally is, Buck.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m sure Pepper will give him an earful later anyway.”_

_“Steve.  You don’t understand.  He was_ wrecked.   _Kept rambling about his parents, about how I was a murderer.  He doesn’t want me here.  I don’t think we should stay if that’s what he feels like.  It’s rude.”_

_“...He’s still thinking about that?  The video?”_

_“You still think about your mom and it’s been a century.”_

_“Yes, well, I was stuck under the ice.”_

_“Steve.”_ A long, drawn-out sigh.   _“I don’t feel comfortable intruding on this man’s privacy.”_

 _“Then he gets a taste of his own medicine.  I can’t tell you_ how _many times Stark’s tried to get into everyone’s pants.  Not to mention he keeps trying to force all his wealth onto us, as if he can_ buy _friends with money.”_

A pause.

_“He sounds rather generous.”_

Another beat passed by, and then Tony decided he’d heard enough.  It was nice that Bucky was trying to defend him, but the guy didn’t know him yet.  Steve, Steve had been around for three years.  He _knew_ what Tony was like, so how could his impression of the billionaire be anything but right?  Tony felt his heart aching inside his chest.  He used to think that authors only wrote those kinds of lines, _“heart aching”,_ to make books more dramatic.  But lately his heart and his emotions had been proving a lot of those thoughts wrong.

Turning on his heel, he left Steve and his best friend to chat with themselves.  No need to disrupt them when they were having so much fun bashing on the selfish Stark bastard in the Tower.

When he reached his workshop, he set to work immediately on fixing his currently scraped and battered Iron Man armor.  It was the Mark XVI, a sleek red and gold model that was twice as fast as his first armor built in the workshop.  Almost three hours had passed by until he heard a knock on the door, drawing him sluggishly out of his concentration.  “FRIDAY, who is it?” he said, not even bothering to turn around.  It was probably Natasha or something, come to bug him.  

“It is Colonel James Rhodes, sir,” FRIDAY said--her voice was high and lilting, not quite unlike JARVIS’s but definitely not the same either.  “He has been knocking on the door for quite some time.”

“And you didn’t alert me?” Tony said, mock-scolding her.

“I alerted you several times in fact,” FRIDAY said back.  The engineer could’ve sworn he heard a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Let him in, J--FRI.”

As soon as the uniform-clad colonel entered the room on his custom-made wheelchair (by none other than Tony Stark himself), Tony swiveled around on the workbench and sprang up, kneeling to enfold Rhodey in a hug.  “Rhodeybear!” he chirped happily.  Looked like days could get better after all.

“Hi, Tones,” Rhodes said fondly, ruffling Tony’s hair.  “How are you doing, old man?”

Tony scoffed.  “Oh, now I’m offended!  I look like I’m twenty three.  And as for you…”  He sombered.  “I’m almost done with your legs.  Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Rhodey said softly.  “I appreciate it.”  

“Of course, honeybear, what would I do if you weren’t tall enough to get face-to-face with me?  I’d have to bend down to kiss you.”  Tony turned away so that Rhodey couldn’t see the haggard guilt scratched across his face.  His words were light, but he couldn’t stop himself from continually thinking about how Rhodey’s paralysis was _his_ fault.

“Hey.”  As if James Rhodes could tell what Tony was thinking--and in fact, he most likely could--the darker-skinned man gripped the other by the shoulder gently before the engineer could stand.  “Don’t kill yourself over this.  I know you.  You have the infuriating tendency to blame yourself.”

“If you hadn’t...if I hadn’t dragged you into this,” Tony said, staring Rhodey straight in the eye.  “Don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault.”

“But it _isn’t,”_ Rhodey insisted.  “I _chose_ to fight with Iron Man.  I’m a soldier, this would have happened sooner or later.”

Tony fidgeted.  “I could’ve built War Machine better.  I could’ve predicted…”

 _“No,_ you _couldn’t_ have.”  Rhodey clapped his other hand down and shifted in the wheelchair.  “Listen, Tones.  No one should blame you unless they’re complete dumbasses.   _I_ don’t blame you.”

Awkwardly, Tony nodded.  He didn’t believe Rhodey, not one bit, but he’d let his friend have some peace of mind for now.  “Okay, honeybear.  Now get your hands off me I’m too young for you.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and gently knocked a wheel against the engineer’s hip.  “Maybe so, but I’m still prettier than you.”  He settled back into his chair in silence and watched as Tony returned to the task at hand--currently, working on sending sassy replies to the barrage of emails from the Stark Industries Board.  There was a calm, soothing sort of feel in the atmosphere, one that had not existed anywhere in the Tower for a very, very long time.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky n steve's movie night!!! kind of a filler chapter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to let y'all know that i completely forgot about the movie night lol so i changed it from "want to watch something tonight" to "tomorrow night" in chapter 2. also just realized that there are so many odd-shaped holes in this storyline lol so let's just pretend tony never shot off bucky's arm. (i think that's rather fair considering in this story we're also pretending that steve is even less of a jerk than he actually is in the mcu.)

**four**

 

 

Steve was waiting for him when Bucky entered the living room with a mug of steaming chamomile tea in his hand.  The blonde supersoldier was sitting loosely on the couch, but Bucky wasn't fooled by the casualness of it all.  His old best friend was just as tense as he was.  

"Hey, Buck."  Steve looked a little disappointed when the former Winter Soldier decided to sit in the armchair next to the sofa rather than with him, but wisely chose not to comment upon it.  "Popcorn?"  He offered up the bowl that had been balanced on his lap.

"I'm good."  Bucky shook his head slightly and glanced at the TV.  Why had he agreed to this?  At least it was a movie and not dinner...he didn't think he'd be able to handle having to keep up two whole hours of conversation.  "What are we watching?"  
Steve colored a little.  "I wasn't really sure, so I thought we could just watch a lighthearted cartoon or something instead...how do you feel about _'How the Grinch Stole Christmas'?"_

Bucky snorted.  "Doesn't sound very lighthearted to me."  
The blonde shrugged abashedly, chewing on a piece of popcorn.  "Christmas is around a month from now, so it's not too far off.  And Natasha said it seemed appropriate."

"And you'd trust _her_ but not Stark, right?" Bucky said, going for casual amusement.  However, it came out a little more bitter and--defensive?--than he'd intended, and an awkward silence passed between the two.  The darker-haired man shook his head.  "Just play the movie, alright?"

"'Course."  Steve fumbled a little with the remote but finally managed to press play, and eventually the atmosphere settled into something less heavy as the two supersoldiers watched the tufty green fellow known as the Grinch march all over Whoville, features twisted in an ugly grin.

 

Halfway through the movie, Bucky's sensitive ears caught a slight clanging noise in the vent above his head, and automatically looked up, his muscles ready to launch himself off the chair if need be.  Steve glanced up too, a worried expression on his face.  They both gave miniscule sighs of relief when the grate popped open only to reveal a smirking Clint Barton, the archer wiggling nimby through the square and dropping onto the carpet.  "What're you both watching?"

Steve shook his head.  "Should've known it was you crawling up there, Clint."

The shorter man shot him a quick grin before plopping down on the sofa as well, making himself comfy and pillowing his head on his arms.  "You guys are watching _'How the Grinch Stole Christmas'?"_

Steve nodded, and Clint's mouth stretched even wider, showing white, even teeth.  "I love that movie.  Even if my own Christmases have always been shit."

"Hopefully Stark's planning something for this year," Steve said over the racket on the television screen.  "I think we could all do with a little holiday cheer."

Clint snorted.  "Ha, yeah, but I doubt the guy would actually cut some money out of his billion dollar budget to do something for us.  You would think he'd lose his pettiness and buy us some decent gifts to apologize, but knowing him, he won't."

Sitting silently in the dark, Bucky, for some reason, felt oddly uncomfortable listening to Steve and his friend rag on the billionaire.  Perhaps it was because he'd seen vulnerability in Stark's expression last night, even though the man _had_ been incredibly drunk.  Maybe it was the way Stark tensed whenever Bucky was around him, like he was waiting for the Soldier to snap.  It was weird, really, how everyone seemed to talk about Tony Stark so much--as if instead of just hating him, they loved to hate him.

He kept quiet though, eyes trained on the TV.  He wasn't going to involve himself in this.  He was done with all the baggage that came with being, well, him.  If his best friend didn't like the guy who was feeding, clothing, arming, and housing them all, so be it.

Steve and Clint continued chuckling throughout the rest of the movie, eventually leaving the subject of Stark and moving onto other, easier, topics.  Bucky could hardly hear what was happening with the Grinch, and felt the sudden impulse to strangle the both of them so that they could just.  Shut.  Up.  He even grabbed the remote, which he'd familiarized himself with a little during his rehabilitation in the hospital, to dial the volume higher.  But everything kept beating in his head, the persistent droning of the other two men like annoying flies in his ears.  He was beginning to think maybe Stark only acted so repulsive (as Steve had mentioned) so that the other Avengers would leave him alone.  Even before Bucky had fallen from the train decades ago, despite being a brash and flirtatious young man, he still liked to have peace and quiet sometimes.  Of course, his time as a brainwashed, cold-blooded killer only furthered that want.  Everything was just so loud all the time nowadays.

Oddly enough, his brain reminded him of Stark, and the man's empty rambling when they'd all been first introduced back to the newly renovated Tower.  For some reason, Bucky hadn't minded the man's constant chatter.  He'd found it soothing, in a way, even if the Tower itself still put him on edge.

Snapping back to reality, he realized that the movie had ended and some wonky music was playing from the flat screen mounted on the wall.  "--Buck.  Bucky.  Bucky?  Are you okay?"  Realizing that Steve was talking to him and that both the blonde and Clint were staring at him with twin looks of concern, Bucky shook his head.

"Sorry, I'm a little off today.  Wasn't paying attention."

"Yeah, looked like you were hypnotized or something for a second," Clint joked before freezing.  The archer fidgeted a little.  "Sorry, man.  Poor taste."

"It's fine."  Bucky stood up, glancing at Steve.  "Hey, Stevie, sorry to leave so quickly, but the movie kind of made me tired.  I think I'm going to just head back to my room now."

"So soon?" Steve said, looking a little hurt.  "I've still got some popcorn left."

"It's okay, I can finish it with you," the archer interjected quickly, shooting Bucky a friendly look--surprising considering just months ago he'd been bloodthirsty and deadly.  "He looks pretty exhausted, Steve."

"Okay.  G'night, Buck."

"Night, Steve."  Bucky walked out and down the hall, mind already set.  As he left the living room where his ex-best friend and the other Avenger were, he'd decided: from now on, he would stop hanging out with Steve so much.  If he continued, it would be so much harder to form a concrete opinion on Tony Stark.  Everyone had so many opinions, it seemed, except for Bucky himself.  So he would judge the guy based off of his _own_ interactions, not what other people said.  And to do that, he couldn't only hang around the ones who hated him--after all, there was that dame, Pepper, whom Steve had spoken briefly yet highly about.  And Rhodes, the handicapped man, as well as Vision, seemed nice enough.  After all, even if Stark were truly the psychopath the once-fugitive Avengers claimed he was, maybe he'd end up being the very medicine Bucky needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment:P sorry i haven't been updating much, i rarely find the energy or motivation to even though i have tons of ideas in my head haha. but yeah, my apologies


End file.
